Brothers
by Taylor Hayes
Summary: This is my take on what would have happened if the conversation between Dastan and Garvis hadn't been interrupted by the Hassansin's quite so soon. If you haven't seen the movie, you probably shouldn't read-Why? Spoilers there be herein. Non-slash.


Brothers

a/n So I just watched Prince of Persia. (Second time in two days. *laugh* I obsess. Just a bit.) Anyway, something about Garsiv and Dastan's relationship sparked my imagination, and I wondered what would have been said if the conversation between them at the temple hadn't been interupted by the Hassansins quite so soon... This is the result.

"Tell me."

"Garsiv, I _did not kill our Father_. You know I would never harm him. He gave me _everything_. What possible reason could I have for betraying my own family?"

He watched Garsiv turn this over in his mind, watched as the sword point dropped to aim at the dust. Dastan knew his brother recognized the truth of the words, but the the question remained-

"Why did you run?"

"You named me murderer, Garsiv. Within _moments_, you declared me a traitor." He couldn't keep the hurt from his voice.

The elder prince's eyes fell, then he looked back at Dastan, gaze strong. "I know you, Dastan. That would not be reason enough."

"Tus... Tus gave me the cloak to give to Father." His answer was quiet and pained, haunted.

Garsiv's mouth dropped open, and his fists clenched at his sides. "Do you really believe that Tus would-?"

"No!" Dastan broke in, stepping forward, denials bursting from his lips. "No, Garsiv, never! But I... I didn't know _what_ to believe. He wasn't in the City for Father's funeral services. He asked for something I later discovered held immeasurable power. He _gave me the cloak_, Garsiv.

"I didn't want to believe it. But it seemed that there was no other possibility! Just as you suspected me when Father was killed. There was _no one else_ to blame." Eyes squeezed tight, Dastan remembered how the thought that their own brother would do such a thing had eaten at his soul. Then he focused on Garsiv again, moving closer, trying to explain. "But it wasn't him. He was not the one to orchestrate Father's murder. It _wasn't Tus_."

"How can you be sure?" Garsiv demanded, pacing the room, head spinning. "The picture your words have drawn seems to declare our brother the schemer behind our father's death."

"What was Father's favorite story?"

Garsiv spun back, his face twisted in confusion at Dastan's sudden topic. "What?"

"_What was Father's favorite story?_"

"The, the lion. When Father and Uncle were children, and Nizam saved Father's life," he answered in bewilderment.

Dastan nodded eagerly, grabbing his brother's arm. "Garsiv, the Alamutians were given charge of an ancient, powerful device. One which can turn back time, in the correct circumstances. If Nizam knew this, if he wished to rule and knew the past could be rewritten, he would go back and change it all so that he _never_ saved Father from the lion. And then Uncle would rule." Ignoring his older brother's look of disbelief, Dastan hurried on in his tale, reminding Garsiv nothing so much as when they were children and his little brother insisted on telling the truth, as quickly and puzzlingly as possible. He had never realized how hard it was to follow his lines of logic.

"And in Avrat, his hands were burned. _Uncle's hands were burned_. I asked him and he said that he had tried to pull the cloak away, to take it off of Father, trying to save him. But I have replayed that day in my mind, over and over. Garsiv, _he never touched Father_. Never. You tried, and I tried, and Bis pulled me away, and Nizam yanked you back.

"Garsiv, the only way Nizam could have burned his hands-"

He trailed off, and a million thoughts flooded Garsiv's mind. Finally, voice stony, he finished Dastan's reasoning for him. "The only way would have been if _he_ put the poison on the robes, and in the process some of it got on his hands."

Such a betrayal seemed near impossible to the warrior. But it made far more sense then either of his brothers making such plans. While Dastan, Tus and Garsiv had grown apart, as they grew older, he still knew the truth; the truth he should have seen from the very first moment he accused his brother. Tus and Dastan were good, honorable men who loved nothing in the world so well as each other, Garsiv, and their father. Family was everything to them, even if Dastan was not part of it by blood.

And despite the years of separation, so different from the every waking moment they had spent together in youth, Garvis still knew his brothers' minds nearly as well as he knew his own. He still knew what his brothers would do and feel, without having to wonder.

Neither Tus, nor -he finally admitted- Dastan would ever hurt their father.

"Dastan, I believe you. And we must tell Tus."

The youngest of the princes, now a grown man, could not stop himself from rushing forward and hugging his brother tightly, as though they were still children.

And Garvis reacted as he once had when Dastan had protested he had not stolen Garvis' favorite shield, and he had believed the little brat. He rolled his eyes, patted his brother's head, hugged him, and then pushed Dastan away to punch him in the shoulder.

"Come, little brother. We must hurry."

Then the noise of a fight rang from outside of the building they stood within.


End file.
